Going, going, gone. Just kidding, I don't want to go. Please don't make me go. Should I go?
Why is this so difficult?
 |
| dawn |
In less than a week I will be leaving my home for good. I have left before, but I have always known I would return, dress rehearsals for this big one. And while I am heading to the most exciting place in the world, I cannot help but feel a heavy ache in my heart for all the magic I am leaving behind.
Los Angeles.
I've loved you, I've hated you, I've long wished to get away from you, I've defended you, discarded you, fought you, run far away, come running back to you, in love, out of love, in spite of love, in love with only myself, in love with your silly light, sitting pretty on a hill, sitting high in a tower, childhood whims in the sun, smiling with shitty people, crying in cars, laughing in cars, jasmine in night air, dancing in the dark, crawling down sixth street, spinning atop glendower, balmy skin on beaches, double-doubles, faux friends, kid stuff, dear friends, good times.
Yup, despite it all, good times. Despite your faults, you are home. And no mater what, where, or how I end up, I am undeniably a product of what you are, whatever that is. Thanks for a charmed youth spent under your glorious sun.
(photos by me, from my house on a hill)
